


An Immodest Proposal

by Kantayra



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-11
Updated: 2010-05-11
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Congratulations. You will be honored to learn that you have passed my lengthy and highly exclusive vetting process. As such, you are deemed acceptable to share my bed tonight."</i> Tezuka is neither honored nor impressed by Atobe's proposal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Immodest Proposal

“Congratulations.”

Tezuka glanced at the impertinent hand that had just landed on Tezuka’s wrist and pushed away the book Tezuka had been reading quite contentedly until a moment ago. The impertinent hand was attached to an impertinent arm, which was attached to an impertinent body, which was attached to an impertinent head, which finally was attached to a horrifically impertinent smirk.

“Ah,” Tezuka put his bookmark in place, “Atobe.”

Atobe’s eyes ran lazily up and down Tezuka’s body, as possessive as the hand that still held Tezuka’s wrist hostage. “You will be honored to learn,” Atobe informed Tezuka in his most insufferable tone, “that you have passed my lengthy and highly exclusive vetting process. As such, you are deemed acceptable to share my bed tonight.” Atobe’s voice turned dark and husky. “I’ll pick you up around eight, yes?”

Tezuka shook Atobe’s hand off and reopened his book. “I’m playing shogi with my grandfather this evening.”

“Surely that can wait.” Atobe’s voice sounded strained, like he was gritting his teeth. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime offer, I’ll warn you. My time is valuable; I don’t waste it on troublesome prospects.”

“I’m busy,” Tezuka insisted. “Ask Oshitari. Or Kabaji.”

For a second, Tezuka thought he could actually _hear_ Atobe’s teeth grinding. But then the sound stopped, and Atobe’s usual voice returned, as light and airy as ever. “Your loss,” Atobe dismissed Tezuka with a wave of his hand. “Enjoy living with your lifetime of regrets.” He stalked off, nose held high in the air.

Tezuka returned to reading his book. After all the high drama in his life, he needed some stodgy, German philosophy to relax his mind.

***

Two days later, Tezuka drew Atobe’s name for his afternoon practice match. Atobe hadn’t so much as looked Tezuka’s way in the past two days, holding very loud and public court in the bleachers during Tezuka’s matches and paying far more attention to the girls and boys that fawned over his every word.

Now, though, Atobe’s fist was tense during the handshake, and his eyes burned with an intensity Tezuka only ever saw in Atobe when Atobe was facing an opponent he considered worthy of his attentions. Tezuka couldn’t restrain the little thrill of anticipation that ran down his spine at the thought.

Atobe took the first two games sharply, almost snappishly. Tezuka let Atobe run off his own nervous energy and then rallied back in the third game, breaking Atobe’s serve in turn. From that point on, they were locked in a dead heat, neither giving an inch nor taking one. It finally came down to the tie-break, as it inevitably did whenever the two of them were serious.

The points came slowly, one racked up against another, amid dripping sweat and the baking heat of the sun overhead. Tezuka waited and watched, biding his time, until Atobe was just at his limit and Tezuka had a one-point advantage in his favor.

Tezuka ran up to volley, and as Atobe met him, Tezuka asked perfectly casually, “Did you enjoy yourself the other night?”

Tezuka hit a perfect drop-shot an instant later. Atobe froze, stunned, for just long enough that he fell a step behind. Tezuka watched with supreme satisfaction as the ball spun and rolled back into the net.

“24-22. Game and set, Tezuka.”

Atobe glared. Tezuka turned away and headed for the showers. He’d only just stepped under the water when Atobe stormed into the stall behind him.

“You’re a bastard,” Atobe growled.

Tezuka tilted his head back and let the cool water brush the sweaty hair back off his forehead.

Atobe stepped up behind him, his body slick and naked against Tezuka’s back. “An arrogant, overconfident bastard,” Atobe’s voice was closer to a purr this time. He let Tezuka feel how much the notion excited him.

Tezuka, unperturbed, reached for the shampoo.

“We’re perfectly matched, you know.” Atobe whispered just above the cascade of water falling. His lips brushed Tezuka’s back.

Tezuka shook his head so that suds ran down his spine, and Atobe’s mouth quickly withdrew.

Atobe hesitated, clearly torn between his previous assertion that Tezuka had missed his chance and the desire that currently pressed against Tezuka’s ass. Finally, a shaky sigh escaped Atobe’s lips. “We could be magnificent together.”

Tezuka rinsed out the rest of the shampoo and turned off the water.

“Don’t you have anything to say to me?” Atobe demanded when Tezuka brushed past him to retrieve his glasses.

Tezuka set the frames in place upon his nose and glanced back at Atobe over his shoulder. “Good game,” he said simply and exited the showers.

***

After that, Atobe didn’t pretend to ignore Tezuka anymore. In fact, Atobe made his presence annoyingly felt wherever Tezuka went.

“Nietzsche, Tezuka, really?” Atobe cornered Tezuka in the library. “How cliché. I would’ve thought you a Goethe man, myself.”

“‘Never by thinking, always by doing’?” Tezuka quoted in German. “How cliché of _you_.”

Atobe leaned in close so that the bookshelf pressed into Tezuka’s back. “Surely even you can see that the odds of either of us finding another match so suitable – in both mind and body, together – are negligible. How does it go again?” He breathed against Tezuka’s ear, German rolling off his own lips now. “‘The man of knowledge must be able not only to love his enemies but also to hate his friends.’”

“Out of curiosity,” Tezuka said calmly, “which category do you place yourself in?”

“Both, of course,” Atobe answered smoothly. “As are you, to me. It’s what makes us,” Atobe’s hand claimed Tezuka’s hip and pulled their groins into alignment, “a perfect match.”

“‘That is the true season of love, when we believe that we alone can love, that no one could ever have loved so before us, and that no one will love in the same way after us,’” Tezuka sighed almost wistfully. “Surprisingly naïve of you, Atobe.”

Atobe shrugged. “‘Against criticism a man can neither protest nor defend himself; he must act in spite of it…’” His hand cupped Tezuka’s ass for one perfect moment of victory.

Tezuka’s eyes drifted closed, and he finished with a gasp, “‘…and then it will gradually yield to him.’”

“Mmm,” Atobe agreed.

Tezuka’s hand reached down to extract his body from Atobe’s grip. “That’s Goethe,” he pointed out matter-of-factly.

“So what if it is?” Atobe demanded petulantly.

“I’m Goethe,” Tezuka insisted. “You’re Nietzsche.”

“You’re impossible,” Atobe complained.

“Hmm.” Tezuka walked off, tome in hand.

***

“It’s not that you’re not queer,” Atobe informed Tezuka in the weight room the next day.

Tezuka grunted and pushed the barbell back up.

Atobe’s fingers lingered delicately along the greased metal, spotting Tezuka when no spot was required or desired. “I’ve seen the way your eyes wander in the locker rooms,” Atobe continued breezily.

Tezuka lowered the weight again with a whoosh of air into his lungs.

“I’ve seen,” Atobe paused deliberately, and Tezuka lifted the weight once again, “the way you look at _me_.”

Tezuka grunted, and the weight came down once more.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Atobe continued nonchalantly. “I am exceptionally handsome, after all. One would wonder more if you _didn’t_ want my body.”

Tezuka’s weight rose.

“Might I add that you’re not lacking in that department, either. Far too many potential mates would be cast into shadow next to my own radiance.”

Tezuka snorted. The weight came back down.

“You, however, would shine quite adequately by my side.”

Tezuka lifted the weight a final time and gestured to Atobe with a grunt. Atobe helped him guide the barbell back onto the rack. Tezuka rose from the bench.

“Well?” Atobe stood beside him. “Tonight?”

“I have practice,” Tezuka said, rubbing a towel through his hair. He allowed himself one glimpse back at Atobe, though, over the rims of his glasses, almost coquettish. Tezuka let his gaze linger just long enough to catch Atobe’s smirk, and then Tezuka headed back for the locker rooms, leaving Atobe behind holding his towel.

***

“Perhaps your best quality,” Atobe sat down, entirely uninvited, in the seat across from Tezuka at the most secluded booth at the back of Tezuka’s favorite café the next morning, “is that you’re a constant challenge.”

“Hmm.” Tezuka stared down at his tea and stirred it carefully.

“But one can only play hard-to-get for so long,” Atobe added.

“Hmm.” Tezuka tapped his stirrer against the side of his mug.

“The thrill of the hunt lies in the catch. Surely, you can appreciate that.”

“Hmm.” Tezuka brought the cup to his lips and took a cautious sip. The movement just so happened to bring his gaze up to Atobe’s face for the first time since Atobe had sat down.

Atobe’s smile was almost gentle, affectionate. It gave Tezuka a moment’s pause. Atobe, never one to relent when he’d finally found an opening, leaned in and placed his hand over Tezuka’s on the table. “Give in to me,” Atobe purred seductively. “I already know you inside and out. I’ve drawn out your worst and matched your best. I’m the same as you are, deep down inside, at the core of our beings.” Atobe’s thumb began rubbing soft circles into the back of Tezuka’s hand. “You don’t have to hide from me. The mask you wear for all the others – I can see right through it.” Atobe’s thumb stilled, and he looked Tezuka directly in the eye. “Come to my bed tonight.”

The last sentence came out as an order, but there was a waver in Atobe’s tone right at the end, as close to begging as Atobe would ever get.

Tezuka paused, considered, and took another sip of his tea. “I have cram school.” He pulled his hand back out of Atobe’s grip.

Atobe let out an exasperated exclamation. “What do I have to do to satisfy you?” he demanded.

Tezuka placed some money on the table. “That will cover my bill. If you’re staying, I highly recommend the jasmine tea.” And he turned his back on Atobe for the last time to ponder what the answer might be.

***

“Tezuka,” Atobe said the next day.

“Atobe,” Tezuka agreed.

Atobe bit his lip, considering his position. He looked up at the leaves of the trees overhead and the tennis courts off to their right and the drinking fountain beside them. Then, he looked back at Tezuka. “Fine,” he grumbled sullenly.

Tezuka blinked at him curiously.

“I…” Atobe took a deep, fortifying breath, “like you.” His cheeks flushed, and he looked deliberately down at the drinking fountain, like it held all the mysteries of the universe in the pattern of the gum stuck to the side.

“Oh?” Tezuka looked at him.

Atobe glared right back. “Okay, I like you _a lot_. Are you happy now?”

“I see,” Tezuka said.

“‘I see’?” Atobe demanded, a hint of panic in his voice. “That’s all?”

“Well,” Tezuka drawled out slowly, “you will be honored to learn that you have passed my lengthy and highly exclusive vetting process.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a practice to run.”

“Wait,” Atobe caught Tezuka’s arm at the last moment. “Is that a yes?”

Tezuka raised his free hand to remove Atobe from his arm. At the last minute, though, he offered Atobe’s hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it.

Atobe’s breath caught in his throat. “Tonight?” he asked hopefully.

Tezuka’s lips quirked into a smirk that looked downright devious, if only for a fraction of a second.

“Arrogant bastard,” Atobe smirked back, smugly, contentedly.

“Save it for tonight,” Tezuka corrected him, mask firmly in place once more, although Atobe would have sworn that this time Tezuka strutted just a bit as he left Atobe behind, always – constantly – craving more.


End file.
